


Spin Me Round

by Philip_The_Poet



Series: So Artfully Instilled [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (I hope so anyway), Fluff, Humor, James is sick of his bullshit, M/M, Swivel Chairs, Thomas is a diva, but loves him anyway, staples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:37:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philip_The_Poet/pseuds/Philip_The_Poet
Summary: When tragedy befalls Thomas, James decides a trip to Staples is probably the best course of action.





	Spin Me Round

**Author's Note:**

> You won't have to read the rest of the series to understand this, but honestly, if you haven't read the rest, I would highly recommend you read my humble garbage offerings. Enjoy!

Thomas Jefferson was heartbroken.

It had been years, _years_ of devotion, years of care, years of the kind of attachment that so few people are blessed enough to have. It had been countless hours of time together, countless late nights, countless crystal memories.

And yet so soon, every last speck of satisfaction seemed to crumble at Jefferson's feet. Years turned to ash and countless turned to numbered.

Thomas Jefferson was heartbroken.

"Thomas."

He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands and _hide_. "Don't."

"Your _swivel chair_ broke."

"You're treating this like a joke," Thomas snapped bitterly. "I'd at least appreciate some _sympathy_."

James Madison raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cracked heap of wood on the floor of Jefferson's room. "Don't you have a lot of swivel chairs?"

" _Yes_ , but this one was my favorite. My all-time favorite."

"A modern tragedy." James shook his head.

"Don't _mock_ me," Thomas hissed. "This is painful. And _I'm_ not the one who hoards clothing labels."

James crossed his arms defensively. "That's different. They're sentimental."

"You know what's sentimental? My _swivel chair_."

Madison sighed. "Are you ever going to recover, or do I need to ask your mother where you keep the Gorilla Glue?"

Jefferson fell back limply onto his bed, narrowly missing the portion of the wall at its foot. "James, I can't just _recover_. It's like a rough breakup. It _left_ me."

"Ignoring the fact that you just completely disregarded our entire relationship," Madison tilted his head, "You're suggesting that a chair left you to become a pile of wood on your floor?"

"Technicalities!"

"It's replaceable, isn't it?"

Thomas ran a hand through his hair. " _No_. Absolutely not."

"But if I took you to the chair section of Staples, wouldn't it be replaceable?"

In an instant, Thomas's head shot up hopefully. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Well. If it gets you through this trying, trying time," James fought off a smile, jamming his fists into his pockets, "Then yes, I'm asking you on a date."

Thomas grinned, springing up from the bed with surprisingly spontaneous liveliness and enthusiasm. "Yes."

"But you have to drive."

It took less than a second for Thomas's keys to reemerge from his pocket and return to their rightful spot between his thumb and forefinger. "James, it's a date."

 

• • •

 

The lateness of the hour had not actually occurred to James until he and Thomas had already driven to the Staples fifteen minutes away, and as Thomas pulled into the non-handicapped parking space closest to the store, the clock on the dashboard flashed the time in green: eight-forty-four PM.

"Do you think they'll be closed?" James asked abruptly.

Thomas shrugged, taking the key out of the ignition and stuffing it in his pocket. "Light's on inside."

And, as the two walked through the automatic doors into the store, it soon became apparent that it was, indeed, open and the lights were, indeed, on inside. One row of long, fluorescent lightbulbs flickered above the registers, at which stood a solitary worker who appeared to be sleeping while standing up. Before James could stop to confirm this suspicion, however, Thomas made a beeline for the office chair section in the back of the store and pulled James along with him by the arm.

The second the expanse of swivel chairs was in sight, watching Thomas was like watching a child in a candy shop.

"It's _purple_! With a _cushioned seat_!"

"This. Matches. My. Bedspread!"

" _So many wheels_. Is this even _legal_?"

"It's got, like, a foot of height that you can adjust the seat to fit in!"

"James! It's a swiveling barstool!"

"Red leather. _Sleek_. Ooh, yeah."

Within five seconds, Madison had scoped out a comfortable-looking leather swivel chair and plopped down into it. Jefferson was endearing, for sure, if exhausting.

"Oh my _god_. It's like the wheels are waxed or oiled or something!"

"You could spill macaroni and cheese _all over_ this seat and not see a single stain. Ever."

"This one is perfect size for you! It's even your favorite color! A nice, boring navy. It'd go with anything!"

"I wish we could live together."

This last sentence of Thomas's was rather alarming to James; it seemed to be coming from closer by than the others, but it wasn't until Jefferson did an oddly graceful pirouette around the big leather chair and draped himself across Madison's lap that he realized why.

Madison stared down at him. Live together? "Mhmm."

"Jemmy, live in my house." Jefferson reached up lazily, all his previous moodiness and misery completely forgotten. His hand found Madison's cheek. "I'll be your shelter. Just pay me back with one thousand kisses."

This public display of affection was altogether nonintrusive, and although James usually avoided such acts, the lack of an audience and the strangeness of the occasion made it tolerable. "Well, I don't think I can just move out of my house, especially considering neither of us is a legal adult, but..."

"I'd name a room after you," Thomas crooned, his hand tracing a line down James's face and along his jawline. " "Jemmy's— James's— no, ' _Mr. Madison's Room_ '."

"Mr. Madison is my father."

Thomas smirked. "If I take your last name, it'll be your sugar daddy, too."

James flushed beet red. "You're far from being my sugar daddy."

"That's a lie and you know it," Jefferson teased.

"Thomas. Sweet Jesus."

"I promise you," Thomas raised his eyebrows and looked up at James, gently spinning the seat with one leg, "I'll cover you."

"Maybe when we're out of school," James dismissed, "Or maybe when I'm certain I won't hack up a lung before age twenty-five."

"Someday, then," Thomas closed his eyes, "We'll live together in a comfortable place. We'll have so many swivel chairs that all of them will be sentimental, and enough medicine that you'll never, ever feel sick again. And we'll— _oohhh_ , we'll have our own library with as many books as we can fit, and a big bed with the adjustable mattress and the button clicker things. We'll grow our own tomatoes and have silver and gold forks..."

"In this scenario, are we married?"

"I would love to marry you," Thomas's voice was nothing if not blissful.

"In that case, don't take my last name," James said thoughtfully. "Thomas Madison doesn't have a nice ring to it."

"I'll make sure _you_ have a nice ring, though."

Madison sighed. Maybe Jefferson was a dreamer, or maybe he was an idealist, or maybe he was somehow being realistic and someday all this would come true. But for now... "Why don't we start with buying a swivel chair and go from there?"

Thomas grinned. "Well. I think this is the one."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda short. Kinda sweet. Kinda low key high key very much would love your comments and kudos and love!! <3 Also, god only knows what happened to Thomas's swivel chair. It was mutilated.


End file.
